The Enemy of My Enemy
by SSJ-Alhazred
Summary: Based on World War Z. The journalist interviewed many soldiers for their tales of pushing back the living dead. This one's name is John Cena.


**The Enemy of My Enemy  
**_Alhazred - madarab20AThotmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom  
_Respective properties belong to their copyright holders, this is a not-for-profit work.

_**Victory Arena at Hec Edmunson Pavilion, Washington**_

_**-Though the dressing room is well-lit, it has clearly seen better days. Venues such as this one, formerly named after a bank before the war, focus more of their resources on staying open and keeping a schedule of events than perfect tidiness and maintenance. There are costumes from a regular, monthly performance in the cubby holes, unrelated to tonight's event. As I enter, John Cena is in the middle of his warm-up exercises. Like the room, he's seen better and younger days, but the scars on his face and arm are almost invisible next to his exuberance. He has no trouble holding a conversation while going through his stretches.-**_

You know, even before the war, lots of people, even people who weren't fans, anyone who just happened to catch him on TV, lots of people thought ol' Vince was insane. He totally was, too. That man would have brilliant ideas one minute, and force total crap through the writing team the next because he laughed real easy at dirty jokes. Damned if a lot of us would've survived the Panic otherwise, though. He couldn't write worth a damn, but he could spot bullshit in reality a mile away. He panicked before the Panic was in full swing, sent us all home, canceled all the events, paid us the rest of our salaries for the year, and told us to batten down the hatches. Those were his exact words, 'batten down.' He wanted us to be ready when it was all over, safe, uninfected, and healthy enough to go right back to work. I guess that was the one bit of bullshit he never caught on to, though. That whole idea it was going to blow over quickly. Not that any of us thought differently...not that it was early enough to make a huge difference. He thought he had time to stop in Connecticut before Greenwich was overrun, and he was wrong. Most of us were lucky, we were doing shows in California right before Yonkers. Everyone not in New York was still pretending life was relatively normal before that, you know.

**-John pauses and sits down, looking awkward on the floor with his arms over his legs.-**

I was trying to get home before Yonkers was even over, man.

**Your family owned a farm in Massachusetts.**

**-He nods.-**

By the time I got it through my head, that this shit wasn't something anyone could ignore, it was going to head west whether we liked it or not...it was too late. No one would go east. Not just to the coast, but east. You would've had a hard time getting to Arizona from California. Well, it wasn't all bad, some of my family...at the time I had no idea, though. I assumed the worst. I thought about my dad once a day, I wonder if he stayed, tried to hold down the farm like a fort until the numbers just piled on like some crazy Nod(1) rush...I imagined what it would've been like if I'd gone home sooner, if I would've tried to talk him out of it, if I'd have stayed to fight it out to the bitter end.

Once everyone was panicking, no one was helping. There was no way to get word out or get word from anywhere even remotely close to New York. I spent a month trying to find my girlfriend and I just found out she'd...she'd headed east after Zack was on the move, probably looking for her own family. Well...I never saw her again. For awhile I refused to believe I never would, though. Lots of isolated pockets survived, right? It wasn't that much of a fantasy...

Anyway, when we were pretty good and settled behind the Rockies, I was surprised to find myself classified something other than F-6. I didn't really think a pro-wrestler had useful skills for taking on Zack or the needs of everyone. Turned out personal trainers were in slight demand, though. Wasn't an A-1 by any means...damn, I can't remember the number, but, whatever...I didn't get away from doing work, but most of that work was working closely with people. Large groups of them, though. We never gave lectures, any of us who knew anything about nutrition, we made rounds through as many refugee camps as we could before dropping, later as many neighborhoods as we could, when they started existing again. We'd take inventories of supplies, get everyone to understand exactly how much nutrition they had available, how they should ration it, how they should exercise to use it best without burning so many calories it would just be wasting food. _That_ was a crapshoot, let me tell you. Even people who weren't totally out of shape, the kind that had never worked out a day in their lives, this idea that they should devote a half-hour of free time every other day to exhausting themselves after work already exhausted them...you know, the fat couch potatoes were usually more open to it, would you believe that? I never understood that. I thought maybe they wanted to slim down so they could outrun Zack easier, or...hell, I don't know. Not like they were all cooperative like some magical nationwide aerobics class, anyhow.

**-John pulls some bottled water from a blue rucksack near him on the floor. I accept when he retrieves a second bottle and offers it to me. Like many brand-name water bottles these days, the seal is long broken and it's refilled from a sink.-**

So, that went on for awhile, right? Then this one winter I'm working out...I'd adapted to not having a gym real quick, that lack of nutrition I was talking about, that meant I was a skinny little bastard for awhile, but keeping _something_ of what I had was how I spent my downtime. I know everyone just _knows_ every single one of us juiced up, the ones who did and got caught sure didn't help, but, hey. Truth of the matter is, plenty of us looked like we were on 'roids just because we worked out _that_ much. Wasn't much else to do while on the road. Anyway, I remember this like yesterday, I was doing chin-ups on a tree in the courtyard of the apartments I was assigned to live at. My roommate was this skinny little computer geek who spent the day making sure the military's networks stayed networked and all that stuff...I'd badgered him for awhile to be my workout buddy, mostly out of loneliness, really. I still didn't know any of my family was alive, I'd had no regular contact with human beings for awhile, had to deal with too many to remember any of them. Trying to be social with my roomie was how I kept from thinking about everyone I lost, how I kept from losing it, I think.

So we're out on this tree doing chin-ups and he'd been at it for like, two months now. He wasn't winded after five seconds like he was when he'd started. This was the last thing we'd do, and it was snowing out but it was early in the season so it hadn't gotten bitter yet, we're holding onto this branch and doing the routine wearing old, scavenged hoodies, winter boots, jeans...he says, "John, man, I'm gonna drop," so I tell him to go ahead inside and I'll be there soon. So he lets go and drops, and I hear him shout and fall, I figure he just stuck the landing. He was a geek, he could fall after dropping six inches, you know?

So I drop down to make sure he didn't break anything. The first thing, the very first thing I realized was that we weren't alone, there was someone else _right there_ in front of our faces, so the first thing I think before I even take in the scene, before I look for detail, this is a fuckin' zombie sneaking up on us. My buddy yelled and fell over because some living-dead asshole shambled in right under our noses and now we had a problem.

**Had you seen a zombie before?**

Oh, damn right I did. Not during the Panic, I was already west and I was never near the local outbreaks when they first started, but I'd put two down by then. One was when I'd caught watch duty, that was usually the work we did when we were pulled from our educational tours...found one in an abandoned home. Another was...well, some random Zack had gotten into the city, wandered around a bit after the last winter. When it thawed it took someone by surprise in the neighborhood I was teaching in. I'll never, ever forget that guy, trying to pry this undead bastard off of him, the rest of us...me included, I'm ashamed to say, just circled around like we were watching some ordinary fight. We were too afraid to do anything, too afraid of being bitten. Imagine that, I had no problem scouting abandoned houses but this? This just set off all that wiring that stops people from acting when there's a crowd.

Anyway, he gets bitten before he can pull his gun and cap the Zack, totally freaks out and empties a whole mag into its head after that. Looks around, I felt like he was making eye contact with each of us, each and every one...reloads the gun, puts it to his head...this guy just starts crying, he just couldn't do it. He walked straight over to me, I don't know why, we didn't have uniforms or anything like that, he couldn't have known I was someone who was maybe prepared for this sort of thing, that I was supposed to be in case it ever happened on watch...he just hands me the gun and he's still crying...and I took it, did it for him...sorry, I'm getting way off track here.

**Please, say whatever you feel is appropriate.**

Right, well. Back to thinking Zack was going to lunge for me any second...

**Was it actually a zombie?**

Nope. Of all the people left in the world, it was 'Taker.

**I'm sorry?**

The Undertaker.(2) One of my old co-workers. Hadn't seen him since the Panic. Never thought I'd see _any_ of them again, really, but I guess if it was going to be anyone...it'd be 'Taker.

**Surely that isn't his actual name?**

Aw, fuck no. You're thinking of the Warrior.(3) But he was just 'Taker to all of us. I know that must sound stupid if you weren't the type of fan back then, the kind that hit the Internet for all the behind-the-scenes stuff that used to be under lock and key...he was always the one who kept everyone in line, mostly because he's huge. It's not fair to say he thought he was his character, more like his character thought it was _him. _He could be in-character and no one would think him any less sane. And he's standing right in front of me, this seven-foot dude is there and I never even saw him walk up, he's wearing the trench and the sweet hat he'd wear down to the ring, it was winter, after all, but still. It was surreal.

**Was he 'in-character?'**

You mean, had he gone nuts? Nah. He just looked down at me...he looked down at a lot of people, being seven feet tall, right? He looks at me and says, "Long time no see, John." Now, me and 'Taker, we weren't really close at work. We got along good, the guy's real nice, just doesn't want you to know it so you won't bullshit him. Here he is talking to me like we're long lost brothers. I invited him in, the three of us talked until well after nightfall...turns out he'd never been far away, he was in the same classification I was. He was teaching people mixed-martial arts, though. He told me all about how he had to separate things that would work on Zack from things that would work on desperate people. Time went on, he taught more stuff that worked on Zack just because crime was going down real fast, he taught a lot of Mkunga Lalem before it actually existed just by teaching people how to have common sense.

I know it sounds crazy, but I had this...seeing him was this big rush. I had this vision of him drilling students in some school made of Zack's bones on the darkside. It was real uplifting.

**He was larger than life?**

Yeah, that's it, exactly. He was so laid back and so professional no matter what he was doing, you couldn't help but be inspired.

**John takes a long drink of water. The look on his face changes abruptly.**

He lost everything. _Everything._ I didn't know that for a long time, but it's important to say it now, before I go on more. He's had...the man's never had the best luck with ladies, right? He's had a couple wives, had some kids. All of them, gone. And he knew it by then, too. Just to add insult to it injury...everything he was proud to own...he owned high-class stuff but he busted his butt for it, his home went to refugees, all his bikes got chopped up for metal...I understand why he didn't say anything to me, or to anyone. No one would think he was sane. No one would believe he wouldn't just go off one day, either into a nervous breakdown or into a raging psychotic break. He never did. He never stopped, he never gave up. All he had left was _being_ the Undertaker, so he did that. Like I said, he never thought he was his character...but he took what he needed from his character to survive, I guess.

We met up a lot. We'd practice our old moves, added it to the workout routine. My roomie got in on it.

**Which one of you had the idea to try performing for an audience again?**

Neither of us, actually. We never thought there'd be a place in the world for that kinda' thing again. If so, not on our lifetimes. I liked to pretend 'Taker was immortal, maybe _he'd_ wrestle again, long after I was dead and buried. If the whole world didn't rot, though. It was just pretending.

One day, someone he was teaching the MMA stuff to gave him the idea. We could do it at a high school about the same distance from both of our working areas. The place was actually being used as a high school again, so we'd have an audience. Honestly? I thought it was bullshit at first. I didn't think anyone would care. Turns out the one with the idea was a teacher at the school, and when they put the word out, the kids were all psyched. I still don't think they were psyched about wrestling, really. Just about something fresh, something they could look at from the old world and say 'hey, there's something totally unimportant. If that can survive, everything else can, too!'

**How long was it before you wrestled at the school?**

Oh, months. The biggest problem was booking a card. We didn't need to worry about writing or feuds since it was a one-time thing, but we needed to worry about a cast. Me and 'Taker couldn't carry a show worth everyone's time by ourselves. We drilled my roomie even more. He didn't really volunteer, but we had a hunch he just didn't think he could do it. Not to roast the guy, but he sure as hell never would've made it in the old business. Now, though...size and skill weren't as important as just being there.

'Taker tracked down Rey Mysterio. He was in his hometown, right in San Diego, doing odd jobs. I say 'odd jobs' because I don't know how else to describe it. He wasn't a bum or useless by any means. It turned out his ability to say 'no' to physics made him a good grease man. He learned how to climb and jump like those urban explorers do, saved people time when they needed things moved, cables strung over high places, that kind of thing.

He tried to find anyone else...he called me one day with a lead on Paul...that was Triple-H way back when. I just found his wife, though, and she gave me the bad news. Still, the idea of putting on a show gave her all sorts of warm fuzzies, I guess. She wanted to be a part of it, like it was doing right by her father or her husband or whatever. She wasn't a wrestler and we didn't need any corporate ideas then, but she had more contact information and she. We didn't get Trips but we got Dave Batista and Big Show. My room mate ended up being our referee. Suddenly we had a card that would last us an hour, maybe an hour and a half if we all spent some time on the microphone. Then we just had to advertise, get the word out around the neighborhood. I thought we should pitch it as a way to waste time, just somewhere to go to forget the world for a little while.

Mostly, though, I was worried about 'Taker.

**Why was that?**

It didn't take an old fan to realize what his character is supposed to be. He's the Undertaker, he's the catcher of wayward souls, he's _undead._ I didn't think anyone would go for that, not with Zack eating all the world. At the same time, the idea of suggesting he come up with a new gimmick...it just never even seemed like something that should happen in reality. I don't know if he could've even pulled it off.

So we came up with this bright idea, we would have him be the villain in our match, like, I'd come out at the show to say a few words and then he'd pop out and nail me with a chair, so when we had the match, I'd be the sympathetic one putting down the undead.

**Did it work?**

Fuck no! It didn't blow the way you think, though. It blew because all those people who showed up...the place was maybe three-quarters of the way full, all of them _wanted 'Taker to win._ It was bizarre. I knew there had to be a lot of people there who'd never even heard of him. Wrestling had been going through a downtime before the war, even the best of us weren't household names everywhere at the time. Halfway through I just said to him, "we need to rethink this, do the sit-up and lets see what happens."

**The 'sit-up?'**

That was part of his character. He'd get hit with something hard and then sit up like it was nothing, because you can't hurt what's already dead, right? I gave him my finisher and he sat up. The crowd went _nuts._ It made no sense. Why would they cheer for him? I've had my fair share of booing, believe me, but no one was booing me, just cheering him. I let him wreck me for five minutes straight...we were more real than we used to be, too. We punched each other for real at least ten times. We had no ring, we did it on the floor, mats made it too hard to walk around. We'd planned a spot where I'd suplex him over the guardrail, we had some sets of chairs spaced farther apart to make a wider aisle, make it safer for everyone...we switched that around so he did it to me. Hardwood floors aren't fun to land on, and I remember thinking, if I'm ever wrestling in a ring again, I won't complain about the spring being too stiff.

He gave me his finisher straight-up, clean win, he was the good guy. They all loved it.

We didn't do many shows. We had an unchanging roster of what, four guys, one location, the same audience...once every couple of months, maybe. Even if not for that, we all had work to do for most of the day, most days. Being infrequent meant the small things we could do differently made things fresh. We didn't really have a storyline but everyone knew to hate me and Dave and love Rey-Rey and 'Taker.

Wasn't long before the President made the announcement. It didn't seem long, at least. We'd settled into routines, days went by, I had a hobby to look forward to...and then we were at war. I was giving serious thought to enlisting. The routine was the only reason I didn't decide right away. Even after everything, when you have a normal life...not what anyone before the war would call a normal life, but normal for the circumstances...even when those circumstances are a zombie-fucking-apocalypse, it's just automatically hard to give it up.

I told 'Taker I was thinking about it. He smiled, this evil smile he gave to a wrestler he was scripted to hate, it scared the _shit_ out of me. He smiled and said he already _had._

That pushed me to my decision. I hit the recruiting office that day, more than enough time to get through Basic before the Battle of Hope. Rey did, too.

I never saw 'Taker there. There was no buddy system at the time, I just knew he was there, knew he had to have been holding a rifle and nailing Zack in the head once a second just like I was. I was in the new BDUs, on my stomach, getting told to have a break when I started having trouble seeing straight, you know, just like everyone. I know he must've been the same, but not in my mind's eye. My image of him changed; he was standing near the line, not in it, not prone, some hellish weapon in his hands, hat on his head, trench coat flapping about as he gunned down more of the living dead than anyone.

After Hope, I had northern duty, through the places it snowed in the winter. I saw him again in North Dakota. Me, I was a total jarhead, would've been even if I'd enlisted before the war. Faked it in a movie, even. I wasn't even a Corporal, just part of a fire-team under one. 'Taker was Sarge to a squad that walked not far from mine. I hardly recognized him in uniform...but I recognized him when it was time to hit Zack again in the spring. He was a machine with that Lobo, never made his men go into battle without being right by their side. I didn't think swinging the thing was like swinging chairs at all, maybe he did.

I saved his ass this one time, though...we were clearing out an airport, my squad got there after his had already started. We'd taken care of the parking lot. I was the only one who saw it, two Gs behind them, one crawling out of the airport giftshop, one shambling down some nearby stairs from baggage claim. 'Taker had buried his Lobo into a crawler and was busy tugging it out.

The one on the stairs, I just saw this angle and knew it was perfect. I never even thought of trying to shoot, this was so perfect I could afford to try it, to make sure there wasn't any blue-on-blue fire. I broke formation, ran right to it. It was high up compared to me, I reached out straight, grabbed its ankles.

So much time...I had so much time to off them when I swung that fucking G straight into its buddy's head. The crawler was already gone, though. 'Taker spun around and glared...he gave good glares, he looked down and saw this zombie trying to writhe away from me, I was just there on one knee with my arms still wrapped around its ankles, I don't mind saying most _living_ men wouldn't get away from that.

I felt like a kid, for some reason. Real awkward. 'Taker put his boot on the G's head and stepped down, he smiled at me, said "Thanks," and turned back, encouraging his specialists to encourage their fire-teams on.

I got my first big injury two days later.

**-John taps a finger to the scars running from his hairline, one goes around his eye and down to his cheek, but the other two pass through the eyebrow and eye. It seems like pure luck that the eye itself was missed.-**

We'd moved on into the city once the airport was secure...cities were a slow, methodical process. If I could've chose to deal with twice as many of Zack in just open country or half as much in just cities, I'd take the countryside any day of the week. Funny thing, Zack didn't have anything to do with any of my injuries...this one was a LaMOE we found in an apartment complex...this guy was a middleground between LaMOEs and ferals, though. Only reason we lived through the crazy traps he'd set was 'cause none of them ended up working. So he just dived at the first one of us he saw with blades on his hand like Freddie Kruger.

**-Holding up one of his sizable arms, John points to a disfigured part of his bicep.-**

This one was a quisling in a mall. How the hell does a quisling even get into a mall that isn't overrun by the real thing? Usually you'd swear malls were rallying points for Zack. I thought I was done, you know. Soon as I put him down...my buddies couldn't do it, I was between them, I was so royally pissed off that I'd made it so long and just...well, I kicked it off, nailed it with my Lobo with the good arm...I noticed the blood right then, knew I was fine, aside from bleeding so much I almost passed out before the medic patched me up. I was actually sent back, once I got over that one minute, that one instant before you realize it was a fake...well, that thing was a good imitation, cause he took a whole chunk out. Anyway, I was out of action from it. I went back, though. Soon as they let me. New York was in sight by then. I never saw another G, though.

**Why is that?**

**-John is visibly disturbed by this question. He pulls one knee up and hugs it, looking at the floor next to his sneaker as he talks.-**

I'd done such a good job, you know? Not...I mean, not as a soldier. We were all damned good. I wasn't the best, but I didn't need to be. I went for so long without thinking of everyone I'd lost, I wanted to keep it all behind me, move forward because it was all I could do for them now. Me living to remember them was the only monument they had. Oh, there've been monuments for the dead, but those have never made me feel better. Knowing someone, carrying them with you...that's the only way to really preserve them in some way.

It was a day like any other. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves. I don't remember what I thought when the smell hit me. It was just perfume, something caught while it was being shipped, the whole damned shipment probably busted.

I thought of my girlfriend. I could _swear_ it was the perfume she used to wear, even though I couldn't remember that at all. It was the first time I thought of her in I didn't know _how_ long, and that was what sent me over the edge. I hadn't just moved on, I'd _forgotten._ I'd forgotten what it was to hold her close and smell that perfume, or to give my dad a hug. I'd lived on, stayed sane by pretending none of it mattered.

That was my Section Eight, right there. Army's not gonna keep around some guy who breaks down crying, doesn't matter if it's for Iraq or for Zack. Maybe I even had a little bias in my direction...can't say I'd blame 'em, it's just not good for morale. Movies taught us all the smaller guys are the ones who break down, you expect that, it's the role of others to help them through it...it hurts people to watch someone twice their size just lose it. If the guy with the squad's highest kill count, in the running for the battalion's record, can't keep it together...what do the others think it says about themselves?

**But didn't a lot of soldiers have their own 'moments?' Wasn't it expected?**

Yeah, we had shrinks traveling with us just to make sure those moments didn't pile up, too. I wasn't having a moment, though. When I said I broke down, I mean I _broke down._ I couldn't stop. I didn't even realize anyone else was there after awhile.

They had me in a tent on suicide watch, I was that bad. I never...did anything like that, but I was such a wreck. I don't think they really thought I would hurt myself, just that it wouldn't be a surprise. I don't know how much time passed. I was laying on my cot all curled up, my eyes felt sore, I was crying for so long. I cried so hard I wore myself out and fell asleep not long after they dropped me there.

Then 'Taker walks in. I don't know how he found the time to get there before I was officially discharged, but he did. I was talking to a psychiatrist at the time and he just walked in. They were telling me they'd found my brother and my father, they were alive and well in Nevada, we'd just never run into each other. They'd found them almost as soon as they started looking. It was supposed to make me feel better, but I was so far gone I couldn't process it like that. That made it worse, of course. I knew I should've been happy. I thought it didn't make me happy because it wasn't the whole family, I had to have a reason for why I wasn't excited, I couldn't accept that I was just numb from shock. That was the only reason I could think of. Wasn't a very good reason.

'Taker asked my shrink to leave, and he didn't sit down. He just looked at me, still had that damned smile on his face, the one that scared me. Technically I should've gotten up, I was still a soldier, he was my superior. I just couldn't find it in me to care.

He says to me, this was so fucked up because that look on his face just shouldn't have been comforting and it was, very much, he says to me, "It's alright, John. You're only human."

I started crying again, but I remember feeling different, like I was crying just to let it out this time, just to get it out of my system. So he hugs me close, sometimes I wish I could've gotten a picture of that, I'm sitting down, I'm already shorter than him and he's hugging my head tight to himself, it must've been quite a sight. Later, when they told me about his kids, I thought, oh god, was I like a surrogate for them? What would that even mean?

I decided it didn't matter. If he needed that, so be it. If that was what he needed to be who he was, to be the scariest motherfucker this side of the undead, let him have it. I figured out why the crowd still loves him, why I couldn't help but think of him as inhuman.

It's because he's _not_ Zack. How can you hate something scarier than a shambling, moaning ghoul when its _on your side? _After all the world went through, he'd managed to hold it together better than most people who lost nothing worse than their stuff.

I went back to Cali, then I found Dad and my brother after I had a few days to myself. They told me about the farm, how they'd made the mistake of fighting the losing battle, lost almost everyone...I was numb about it, still am to this day. I have what I have and I'm thankful for it. I'll appreciate having them, just this one small amount of what I thought had been gone forever, I'll never, ever take it for granted.

I told him a lot of what happened to me, how I'd ended up where, and doing what. I didn't tell them why I wasn't in the Army anymore, but they knew it was something bad. I couldn't hide it even when I wasn't saying it. They've never asked.

**-John checks his watch and then takes it off. As he continues talking, gets dressed for his performance, a simple matter of a baseball jersey and hat, kneepads pulled from his rucksack, and his dog tags.-**

So I went back to work, and every week, things went a little more uphill. After VA Day, you'd swear things were getting better by the day. Soon, I was teaching people how to keep healthy so they wouldn't be a burden on resources, and mostly for their own good, rather than just for survival. When 'Taker and Rey got discharged, we started putting on shows again. It was slow going, but Vince's daughter jumped right in when we started producing enough audience and ticket sales to start expanding. She takes care of the business, we put on the shows and scout new talent, we make people feel like it's pre-war from the time they sit to the time they leave.

Not that I think that's all good. A lot of the aspects of pre-war society are what got us into the mess, after all. I like to think we don't make people yearn for it, we just provide an entertaining slice of history. We're pretty sure we'll be on TV again sometime next year, once the airwaves are more on their feet and they have time slots without much to go in them.

**-He stands up and cracks his knuckles.-**

Guess that's all I got to say. Enjoy the show, right?

**-John escorts me out of the backstage area. As a courtesy I have been given a ringside ticket to the show. John's match against the Undertaker is the main event. Although both wrestlers are currently written as 'good guys,' John loses when the Undertaker drops him on his head and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes are rolled back in a look that most certainly resembles many a living dead. The crowd cheers. A distinctive sign being held up near my seat reads, "RIP Zack, Long Live 'Taker!"-**

1. In John's favorite video game, part of a genre characterized by mobs of soldiers rushing targets with superior numbers, the villains are called the "Brotherhood of Nod."

2. The Undertaker has been portrayed by Texas native and distinguished war veteran Mark Calaway for upwards of twenty years even excluding the time the business was non-existent, an exception to the average lasting time of characters and performers in pro-wrestling. Calaway politely declined to be interviewed.

3. Brian Hellwig, famous for wrestling as 'The Ultimate Warrior,' had his name legally changed to 'Warrior' in 1993.


End file.
